


Sleep Walking

by elseryn



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Cat and Mouse, Dark Will, Introspection, M/M, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Hannibal, Sensitive Hannibal, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elseryn/pseuds/elseryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the puzzle of who the ripper is has been solved, at least for Will, the question now is what to do with it. </p><p>Hannibal meanwhile is dealing with his own problems. Namely, one Will Graham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glimpse

Breath fogging against the glass, picturing a house like a lighthouse in the Moorish waters of a darkened night. There is no light house, no lights but the buzzing fluorescent street markers throwing shadows on the car park below. Two cars, one out of place because it’s a truck. Will’s car is in the shop currently getting a new cam belt so he’d taken the red American metal lunch box out of the shed and made it run again. Beside it is the coal coloured Bentley Hannibal drives looking like a streak of darkness among friends. Odd acquaintances, Will muses, and nods absently as Hannibal reaches around to shove a steaming cup of coffee in front of his face.  
“The most I could do with the equipment on hand” Hannibal says mildly. Will turns, “thankyou” and sniffs deeply. The coffee is rich and aromatic and definitely imported from gods knows where. Right now though it’s the only think keeping him awake enough to concentrate. He’s so close, to what he doesn’t realise. But he can taste it like a word on the tip of his tongue, can feel the shape and sound of it. The coffee is hot and bitter, how he prefers to it compared to Hannibal’s sugar and cream approach. Looking over at the Lithuanian he can see the overtime and long nights have taken effect on the good doctor as well. The suit jacket of his ensemble lies folded over a chair, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up and his tie folded loosely in his jacket pocket probably. There are bags under his eyes, the effect of little sleep and high stress. The missing pieces murder is getting to everyone, even their psychiatrist it seems. Hannibal catches Will looking at him and raises one eyebrow in a questions. It isn’t often will is able to meet the eyes of anyone but Hannibal isn’t just anyone anymore. He’s a friend Will tells himself, burying the niggling feeling at the back of his mind.  
“You want to call it a night. I think I’m dead on my feet.”  
“As your doctor” Hannibal says smiling, “I believe I’m more qualified to decide that” Will huffs a laugh that’s a mix of humour and exhaustion. His coat is hanging near the door and he grabs it, turning to find Hannibal standing close. Uncomfortably close. By now, he realises what’s going to happen before Hannibal asks “may I?” and helps him into the great brown parka but it still makes him feel a little awkward being helped into his clothes like he’s five.  
“And this”, Hannibal says pulling out a blue scarf and looping it around Will’s protesting neck. It’s Marino wool, warm and comfortable. Will could list a hundred reasons why he wouldn’t, shouldn’t, isn’t going to accept this but it’s cold and the wear of the case is weighing on him as well. Instead he mutters something about having it cleaned and returned and Hannibal smiles one of his rare toothy genuine smiles which means he’s been successful in his schemes. They store the evidence they were analysing, put away the charts and flick off the lights. There’s a killer on the loose but they won’t catch him if they’re both swaying on their feet.  
Hannibal stops in the doorway, “one moment William,” and darts back into the evidence room quickly. He’s back in a trice, holding his blue silver fish tie in one hand and Will nods into a yawn. His keys are already in his hand, his mind on his dogs. He doesn’t notice the slight bulge in Hannibal’s pocket and later when they’re looking through the petri dishes they’ll put it down to a filing error.


	2. The beginning of the end

William is standing in Hannibal’s kitchen when he realises that his best friend is a serial killer. About the same time he realises Hannibal is his best friend. Here is the man that passes him coffee without him asking, who listens to him as he parrots the ghosts of serial killers and mad men. Hannibal has taken him form dark places before, sheltered him like a frightened bird and that odd fact begs the question. Why? Why save will graham, the socially inept profiler with his plaid shirts and the smell of dogs on his jeans. He’s drinking a red, waiting for Hannibal to finish grilling the steak when it hits him with startling clarity. Hannibal’s elbows are slightly turned out, his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose corded muscle and bone. His head is still down and by the time he looks up Will is turned slightly away, smiling at nothing. 

“William?” Hannibal’s voice is a question and Will looks back at his friend, his friend Hannibal who is standing amongst a circle of knives and hammers. Frying someone right now for their pleasure. 

“Yeah?”

“Where are you William?”

He wants to lie. “Here. I’m here” He says instead. He is here, for the first time in months. He’s present and seeing and the tiny ever present thought has bloomed in the dark recess of his mind into an orchid of undeniable truth. And beauty. It’s elegant the way Hannibal has everyone fooled. Wills still uncertain himself but that’s how he does it, the more logical part of Will reasons. The snake and the flower. He doesn't have time to analyse it anymore though, the mongoose realises he is in the snakes den for the first time and must now feed on the carrion. He wonders, sitting down, whom he is about to put in his mouth. How many times he’s sat across form Hannibal eating the evidence of their victims. There are four missing people left out there that the d.a. is currently investigating. Tony Mulligan is 29, owns butchery and has two daughters, Michelle and Nancy. He has tattoos running both his arms like sleeves and piercing in both ears. Jessica Whittler, age nineteen, was assumable taken on her walk home form the library. She is studying to get into law school and has a cat called whiskers. Florence O’Hara is 59 and its thought she wandered off the grounds of her retirement village last week. She wears a perfume they don’t make anymore, and has bottles and bottles of it still in her closet. No living relatives. Abbigail Hobbs. The girl without a father. The steak tastes like well-seasoned excellently prepared steak. He can try and imagine the breaking of bone, sawing through cartilage, ripping of tendons but it just tastes like steak. He’s already finished anyway, and downs the wine without tasting it. 

“Hungry aren't we?”

Will shakes his head and rolls his eyes and cleans the back of his teeth with his tongue. After coffee and a glass of scotch he takes his leave, thanking Hannibal for the lovely evening as always.

He’s halfway out the door when he feels Hannibal’s hand on his wrist and he feels a shiver run through him. 

“William?” 

Hannibal looks upset. His face is a little flushed, either from the fire or the whisky Will doesn't know.  
“DO you have to leave so soon?” William has a split second thought. He’s tied up like a pork loin, laid on a silver platter on Hannibal’s table. There is an apple in his mouth and his eyes have been removed, the eyelids drooping over the empty space. Around him Jack Crawford and the others are seated around all holding long forks and knives.

“Early start tomorrow.” He says and then almost forgetting reaches into his pocket to return the scarf he’d borrowed. 

“Keep it.” Hannibal says, standing once again to his full height, the ever accomplished host, and “It was a gift.”

Will nods and sets off into the night, feeling Hannibal’s eyes on him like two beams of winter on his back. When he gets home his dogs gather around him, concerned and whining as their master retches into the toilet bowl. Tomorrow he thinks, mind skating away from capable hands and a clever smile. Tomorrow I’ll start looking again.


	3. Day One

Will stands in front of yet another crime scene, back rigid against the cold. His coat collar is turned up against a bitterness which has crawled into his bones. He'd reached for Hannibal's scarf as he'd left the house, tying the fabric absently like a noose around his neck without realizing it. He still remembers Hannibal’s smile as he’d seen him, the way his eyes had rested on the blue material around his neck. He has to fight not to rip it off, stuff it into his mouth to stop the sound of screaming. Hannibal passes him a coffee that he nods at in thanks. “So?” Will says.

Hannibal describes the scene despite only being his therapist. Jack had said having Hannibal close at hand may help Will center himself; make him feel safer. It’s enough to make Will smile a little and he smothers what he assumes would be a hysterical giggle. Hannibal catches the tilt of lips anyway, his face an amused question. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better will. You seemed a little down last time we parted ways.”  
Will makes a non-committal half shrug and gestures for Hannibal to continue in his description. A man in his mid thirties, Paul Walt, Beverly Katz is doing the first check over but it looks like strangulation like the other two. No weapon. No sign of struggle. It’s not too bad, is what Hannibal is saying. It wasn’t me, Will hears. After a few minutes Beverly makes their way over with the okay for Will to take a look. Her eyes linger like a doctor assessing a patient, or possibly a deer who’s going to spook. “William?” Hannibal says and presses a hand against Wills duster.

Will actively avoids touch, sends out the message loud and clear. Hannibal ignores what doesn't benefit him. So Will is constantly rolling his shoulders, trying to get rid of the pricking at his neck and the hand between his shoulder blades. He kneels and feels the brush of Hannibal's knuckles against his hair, shivering in the autumn breeze. In front of him is a corpse. It should take him a moment to compartmentalize, to put away the screaming parts and focus on the job in front of him. Since Hannibal started telling him what was coming though he’s found it easier. Easier to look, easier to see, training me? The thought fits to well to be mere coincidence. He doesn’t have to push hard to see through the eyes of the killer, and then all of a sudden he’s spooling through memories that don’t belong to him.

It’s late, they’ve been drinking. The two of them. Paul said to stop the car because he needs to take a piss, so they pulled over to a side street. He’s laughing and I’m laughing and he wants to get frisky so I, I go back to the car. Grab the, what am I grabbing, oh, scarves. I grab the scarves and I’m walking back, the ground hard enough not to give me too much trouble. My heels stick in the ground. He lays down his jacket, I wrap the scarves around his neck and tighten just enough. I kneel down and-  
Will pulls back to himself suddenly, falling back a step into competent gloved hands. His breathing is a little uneven and he knows he’s flushed, his heart rate beating a rhythm in his ears that sounds like drums. He pushes his glasses up defensively and fights down the irrational spike of arousal that had accompanied the scene.  
“Will. What do you see?” Jacks voice is almost a balm, the way it feels like jumping into an ice bath. Will nods and begins to explain what he saw. A woman, younger, not his wife, mistress or more likely hired company. Up town establishment, but not more than two years’ experience and obviously didn’t know enough about BDSM to realize her mistake. Will doesn’t know enough about alternative lifestyles to guess what she would have used to tighten the knot but after a while it wouldn’t have mattered. There’s something wrong though. Something he’s missing. 

“Accidental?” Jack says, unbelieving. 

Will nods and then runs a hand though his hair. It is, but the scene seems off somehow, like he’s missing something.   
“We’ll check his receipts and credit checks, find out where he’d have time to pick up, company.” Jack has his hands in his pockets and his breath fogs the air around him like smoke. Will realizes he’s not cold and then remembers the feeling of Hannibal’s gloved hands resting against his arms, just above his elbows. The front of Hannibal's dark grey jacket pressed to the back of Will’s weathered brown duster. He steps out of the circle of Hannibal's hands without any resistance and feels immediately both better and worse.

“If that’s all?” Hannibal asks Jack and the commissioner nods at them both. 

“Take it easy Will. Dr.Hannibal.”

Will watches the hunched shouldered officer walk off, blows into his hands for warmth. His hands are pale like the rest of him but run through with fault line fine scars from hooks and lures and nails.

“Will I-“

Will turns at the sound of an undercurrent of uneasiness. Hannibal is staring at him intensely, his smile more open than it ever is usually. 

“If you’re not doing anything, I know it seems inopportune, but would you like to go to lunch.”

Will smiles with what he knows must look like forced cheer and feels something in him tug oddly. “This is an inopportune moment to invite someone to lunch. I don’t often get invited for food so soon after looking at a murder.” 

Hannibal looks away in a brief moment of, of something indescribable, “It seems I hardly see you outside of my office or crime scenes.”

Will feels the tugging again and lifts the front of his scarf up to cover more of his face. “I have to checks something back at the lab.” He almost but doesn’t say sorry.

Hannibal nods and looks away and when he looks back its strange to think Will ever heard that thread of nervousness in his tone. “Then you’ll have to come to dinner again some time. You know how much I love having you.” Will nods and tries not to fidget at Hannibal's hand on his shoulder as they walk back to their cars. Despite the cold, the warmth seeps through like concentrated sunlight. It spreads into his bones and he feels hot and freezing at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress and you shouldn't expect any consistency in my writing or updates. That being said I will try to update this when I get the time away.


End file.
